Ultimate Baseball Road Trip (55 page)

Known locally as “Father Time,” Pagano, a retired produce merchant, lived in St. Louis his entire life. Before games, he patrolled the plaza outside the park and offered every fan he saw a boisterous “Welcome,” and hearty handshake. He played fifty tunes on his harmonica, ranging from “God Bless America” to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” As game time approached, Paul passed through the stadium turnstiles free of charge, courtesy of the Cardinals.

Intersection of N. Grand Boulevard and Dodier Street

There’s not much to see in the now rundown neighborhood that was once the center of the St. Louis baseball universe. Dating all the way back to 1866 and continuing until Busch Memorial opened in 1966, the ballparks that stood on these grounds reflected the times in which their fans lived. Through the years the facilities were remodeled and adapted to suit the changing needs of the times. This evolution saw the intersection of North Grand and Dodier begin with a humble grass park on its grounds, then a wooden ballpark, then a multi-decked concrete and steel Jewel Box ballpark. Remember, not just Cardinals’ history is tied to this plot, but also the history of the original American League Milwaukee Brewers, who came to St. Louis to become the Brown Stockings, then flew the coup to Baltimore to become the current Orioles. A white sign on the side of a building standing at the location is all you’ll find commemorating the place where St. Louis baseball once reigned supreme.

There were many great moments in the history of Sportsman’s Park, but none greater perhaps than when in 1941 Satchel Paige was asked to play in an All-Star style game there. He agreed and did play, essentially breaking baseball’s color barrier six years prior to Jackie Robinson. Of course, it was only for a single game, and it was only an exhibition. But Paige agreed to play, assuming he was granted one consideration: that any fan would be allowed to buy a ticket, regardless of the color of their skin.

With some time to kill in St. Louis before our next game, Josh wanted to go up to the top of the Arch, just as he’d done the first time we visited the Gateway City. Kevin wanted to do anything else but that.

“Come on,” Josh said. “It’ll give you something to tell your girls about when you get home.”

“How about we just watch the documentary in the visitor center?” Kevin said, approaching the towering structure with a glint of skepticism in his eye.

“It’s the Gateway to the West,” Josh persisted. “It’s time for you to look West, young man.”

“I’m
from
the West,” Kevin said. “Besides, now I live in Pittsburgh, which was the Gateway to the West back when St. Louis was considered the Far West.”

“I’m not going to force you,” Josh snapped.

“Thank you. I won’t be forced,” Kevin said coolly.

We continued walking until the 630-foot-tall, 630-foot-wide structure arched over the top of us.

“It’s a once in a lifetime experience, though,” Josh persisted.

“Yeah, and you did it
last
time we were in St. Louis,” Kevin said uneasily.

“But
you
didn’t,” Josh said.

“Nope,” said Kevin elusively.

“I know what your problem is,” Josh said, walking toward the ticket seller.

“I don’t have a problem,” Kevin replied.

“Yes, you do,” Josh insisted, still walking. “You’re afraid of heights.”

“I am not afraid of heights,” Kevin yelled. “I just don’t want to go up, that’s all.”

“Then why do you cross yourself whenever we drive over a high bridge?”

“I do not. I just don’t like … tight spaces.”

“You’re claustrophobic?” Josh asked dubiously.

“I feel like I can’t breathe … up high … sometimes,” Kevin whimpered. “There. I said it.”

“Cripes. And you call me uptight.”

“You
are
uptight.”

“Maybe. But at least I’m not afraid to go up in the Arch tram. And you’re not either. Come on, man.”

In the end, we both ascended in a tram that took us to the highest point in any of our baseball travels (except for the upper deck at Rogers Centre!). Kevin turned a pale hue of green about halfway to the top, but then slowly returned to his normal pasty-white tone as the amazing view overwhelmed his simmering fear. When we got down, he was all smiles (after kissing the ground, just for effect).

“What a ride!” he said. “You must have been able to see for twenty miles.”

“Thirty, actually,” Josh said. “And to think, you were afraid.”

“I wasn’t … afraid,” said Kevin.

“You weren’t afraid, huh?” said Josh.

“No. We’ve been in a car together for two weeks. Did you ever think I just didn’t want to get into a cramped little elevator with you?”

“Okay,” Josh said. “You weren’t afraid. You just pined for a little time alone.”

The moral of the story: Sometimes being a good road trip partner means ceding the point to your fellow traveler, like Josh did at the
very
end. But it’s important that you
only
do this
after
thoroughly harassing them and insisting that they face their worst fears. Only this way will you expand each other’s horizons.

KANSAS CITY ROYALS,
KAUFFMAN STADIUM

A
s game time approaches and the sun sets, Kansas City’s little ballpark lights up the Heartland night. While Kauffman Stadium may not be full on most nights, the experience of witnessing a game within its bounds is sure to fill any fan with the same warm feelings our forbearers must have felt when they visited the village square to watch early practitioners of America’s Game show off their talents. A visit to Kansas City not only reminds us that small-market baseball can be a delight, but hearkens us back to those pastoral times when the game first took root in the American psyche.

Built in the middle of the cookie-cutter era, Kauffman Stadium somehow escaped the conventional thinking of its time and through the years has continued to shine. From the start, Kauffman was conceived as a baseball-only facility. “The K” as it is sometimes called, was originally known as “Royals Stadium” when it debuted in 1973.

It sits southeast of downtown within the Truman Sports Complex, which it shares with the NFL Chiefs’ Arrowhead Stadium. As is often the case when a sports complex is involved, an interstate runs just beyond the stadium footprint and in lieu of a neighborhood there is open space aplenty. Some might consider this a drawback, but to us it seemed to be the point. Before migrating to the city, baseball was a barnstorming game played in green pastures in small towns. And Kauffman is the nearest big league equivalent to that earliest of links in the game’s evolution. From its horseshoe design to its signature fountain bubbling across the outfield, Kauffman Stadium is one of those parks that must be visited in person to be fully appreciated.

When the park opened it was symmetrical in nearly every way and sported artificial turf. For our thinking these two less-than-appetizing ingredients usually spell disaster. But Kauffman bucked the right trends at the right times and has been renovated through the years to keep up with changes in fan expectations. The first-level concourse is wide open and provides views of the action for those on the prowl for concessions. That’s right, an open first-level concourse at a park that was built all the way back in the 1970s. See, we weren’t kidding when we said Kauffman wasn’t like the other parks of its era. The switch to real grass occurred not a moment too soon in 1995. Then, most importantly of all in its efforts to keep up with the times, Kauffman underwent a $250 million renovation between 2007 and 2009. The price tag dwarfed the stadium’s original cost of $70 million. This new work was funded by an 0.375 sales tax increase that Jackson County voters approved in 2006. While we normally roll our eyes a bit when the public gets hit with a bill that’s going to put extra money in a private business interest’s pockets, we’ve come to accept that this is the way pro sports works these days. And we have to respect the Royals fans for caring enough about their team to turn out at the ballot box and at the cash register. And there’s no arguing with the fact that the ballpark makeover was done right.

The centerpiece of the work was the addition of a festive outfield plaza that not only makes the first level concourse a 360-degree walking experience but leads to new home run territory seats, an expansive play area for kids, a right-field sports bar with barstools overlooking the field, and a Royals Hall of Fame. The work also added a high-def video screen where the old low-def one used to be in center, and updated the exterior façade, entrances, restrooms and concourses. As far as renovations go, this was a major one.

Kevin:
The Royals were immediately rewarded for their efforts.

Josh:
You mean the fans returned?

Kevin:
No. The Royals still only draw twenty thousand a night, but they were awarded the 2012 All-Star Game.

On television, the water display may look like it belongs within an oversized mini-golf course. Although “The K” does in fact have a baseball-themed regulation-sized mini golf course in the outfield kids’ zone, this is not the case. From the ballpark seats, the fountains look like they are in absolutely the right
place atop the outfield fence. Not only are they pleasing to the eye but sitting near the running waterfalls calms the soul.

The massive LED scoreboard in dead-center is also distinct, bearing at its top an enormous crown that lets all who visit know that baseball, Midwestern style, is king. Unlike most ballpark video boards, which have tended to stretch out horizontally in recent years to tap into the wide-screen TV “phase” (as Kevin calls it), the centerpiece of Royals vision rises vertically. On the backside of the new crown, the familiar KC logo is visible to folks driving past the park on I-70.

The story of how the Royals have come to bear the hardball mantle in history-rich Kansas City began in 1968 when the Kansas City Athletics decided to move from Kansas City to Oakland. The next year, KC was awarded one of the four expansion franchises that would debut in 1969. The other newbies were the San Diego Padres and the ill-fated Seattle Pilots and Montreal Expos. By the time Charlie O. Finley decided to move his A’s to the West Coast, Jackson County voters had already approved a bond issue to build the stadium that would eventually come to be known as Kauffman Stadium. So that piece of the puzzle was already in place for the fledgling Junior Circuit team to be named later in KC. The next piece was finding a committed owner, which the team did in the person of Ewing M. Kauffman who named his new club “the Royals” as a tribute to the old Kansas City Monarchs who were one of the best-known and most successful franchises of the Negro Leagues.

Josh:
A competing theory of causation says Mr. Kauffman named the Royals after the American Royal livestock show, which has been held in Kansas City since 1899.

Kevin:
The Monarchs’ and Royals’ names are too close to be a coincidence. Besides, that story is far more romantic.

Josh:
Let’s agree to disagree and say the Royals were named after the monarchs
and
the American Royal livestock show.

Kevin:
Considering I never agree to disagree, I refuse.

Josh:
So that means you agree with me?

Kevin:
Horse-lover!

Josh:
Are you accusing me or Mr. Kauffman? If it’s the latter, I agree.

Kevin:
I’m going to let you have the final word, but only because we have a lot more to cover in this chapter.

One thing we both agree on is that Mr. Kauffman made his fortune as founder of Marion Laboratories, a pharmaceutical company that brought to market products like the anti-smoking gum Nicorette, Cepacol mouthwash, and the antihistamine Seldane.

Kevin:
If you’ve used all three of the products in the past month this means you have a smoking addiction, bad breath, and a bad case of the sniffles….

Josh:
… and maybe you should get your health situation squared away before hitting the road.

The ballpark was designed before Kauffman bought a controlling stake in the local team but completed a few
years afterward. It took the shape of a cookie-cutter but eliminated the worst two-thirds of the standard seating bowl. If the cookie-cutters looked like concrete hockey pucks, Kauffman looked like a hockey puck slashed in half diagonally, with the vital seats behind home plate remaining, as well as the lower-level seats down the baselines. As for the customary upper-level seats down the outfield lines that offer the worst views? The stadium planners in KC simply didn’t build any.

These new digs were constructed while the Royals played their first four seasons at old Municipal Stadium. The first game at Royals Stadium was on April 10, 1973. In it, the Royals crushed the Rangers 12–1. More than thirty-nine thousand fans cheered as Amos Otis recorded the first hit for the Royals. On May 15 of that year, California’s Nolan Ryan struck out twelve Royals, en route to treating the KC fans to the first of his seven no-hitters. The All-Star Game also came to town during that inaugural season. It would be the last of Willie Mays’s long career. Although Johnny Bench led the National League to a 7–1 victory, three of the five hits for the American League came from Otis and fellow-Royal John Mayberry.

Before the Royals’ brief residency, Municipal Stadium had served as the home of the Athletics during their layover in Kansas City on their journey from Philadelphia to Oakland. Built in 1923, the stadium was originally named Muehlebach Field after George Muehlebach, the local beer baron who owned the Double-A Kansas City Blues. The single-decked ballpark was also home to the Kansas City Monarchs from 1923 until 1950.

It is difficult to overstate how important the Monarchs were to Kansas City. As charter members of the Negro National League, they won ten pennants and played in the first two Negro League World Series—both against the Hill-dale Daisies. The Monarchs won the first, but dropped the second. In their history they only suffered one losing season, and that was when rosters were heavily depleted due to players serving in World War II. The Homestead Grays were the only other Negro League team to claim ten pennants, and in the only meeting of the two dynasties the Monarchs swept the Grays in the 1942 Negro Leagues World Series. Ernie Banks, Satchel Paige, Buck O’Neil, and Jackie Robinson rank among the Monarchs’ most famed alums. They helped establish a tradition of championship baseball in the small Midwestern city and fueled a desire in local residents to bring Major League ball to town.

When the New York Yankees acquired the minor league Blues in 1937, Yankees owner Jacob Ruppert renamed the ballpark Ruppert Stadium. After Ruppert passed away, the ballpark officially became known as Blues Stadium. Then it was completely rebuilt and renamed Municipal Stadium in 1955 in anticipation of the A’s arrival. At a cost of $2.5 million, a partially covered second deck was added to nearly double capacity to thirty thousand.

The innovative and controversial Finley bought the A’s in 1960. By then KC’s trouble attracting fans had begun to show. After the A’s had posted the second best attendance in the American League in 1955, when 1.4 million fans turned out at Municipal Stadium, they quickly plummeted to the bottom of the league, averaging fewer than a million a year. It didn’t help that during their thirteen years in town they never won more than seventy-four games and only once finished higher than seventh place, when they finished sixth in their first season. Finley tried to lure fans to the park, even if the teams he fielded left something to be desired. He introduced a mule to serve as the mascot and named it “Charlie O” after himself. It lived in the children’s petting zoo behind the left-field bleachers. The zoo also contained rabbits, monkeys, sheep and pheasants. “Little Blowhard” was another Finley inspiration. The device blew air across home plate so the big-bellied umpires of the era wouldn’t have to bend over to dust it off. Another Municipal Stadium trademark during the Finley days was a mechanical rabbit named Harvey that would spring out of the ground to deliver baseballs to the home plate ump.

Josh:
Finley was buttering up the umps.

Kevin:
The way the A’s played, they needed every advantage they could get.

But Finley didn’t stop at these gimmicks. He also constructed a fence that reduced Municipal Stadium’s right-field home run porch to 296 feet, the same as right field at old Yankee Stadium. Dubbing the protrusion “Pennant Porch,” Finley was convinced the Yankees’ success arose from their short home run porch, and felt his team deserved the same advantage. Unfortunately the American League only allowed Pennant Porch to stand for two exhibition games before passing a rule that all newer parks needed to have fences at least 325 feet from home plate.

Kevin:
Just another case of East Coast bias.